Page 60 of Forty, Flirty & F*cked

His tongue and hard hands and smooth fingertips work me through my orgasm. Until at last, I collapse against the counter into a heap.

A boneless, moaning, satisfied heap.

A heap that Connor smiles at, as he stands to his feet, his tall frame towering over mine.

I can’t help it. I pull him to me, kissing him deeply. I cantaste my climax on his lips, and the evidence of it makes me slicker than I ever thought possible.

I swallow, trying to keep my core from shaking.

“I’m sorry,” I gasp out. “I was just trying to say thank you at first.”

“Well,” he grins. “That was my version of ‘you’re welcome’.”

My phone buzzes again, breaking the moment.

LILY: FAMILY DINNER EMERGENCY!!!

LILY: Dad's making his "experimental" lasagna again

LILY: Code red! I repeat, CODE RED

LILY: Also why aren't you answering your phone? You better not be stress-cleaning to Kenny G again

I groan, dropping my forehead to Connor's chest. “It’s Lily. My little sister. Texting about my dad. Lately, he’s been on this self-sufficiency kick since his kidney transplant. He’s been wanting to make his own food, and his experiments haven’t been going so well.”

“Ah, I see.” He eyes me, nudging my nose with his. “Still want to argue me down about that ‘loving’ thing?”

I release a snort. “I don’t know. I just know that I have to?—"

"Go." He presses a kiss to my hair. "Save your family from experimental Italian food."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He tilts my chin up. "Though we should probably discuss this... whatever this is."

"Probably." I straighten his collar where I'd grabbed it. "Over dinner maybe? Tomorrow?"

His smile is worth every interrupted moment. "It's a date."

"A professional date?"

"Not even close."

He leaves me standing in my kitchen, wine forgotten, lips tingling, and absolutely everything I thought I knew about professional boundaries completely destroyed.

15

LOVE ME TENDER (BUT MAYBE SKIP THE SINGING)

CONNOR

A week after the kitchen incident (as I've started calling it in my head), Seattle's April weather has decided to skip straight to summer. The kind of unseasonable warmth that makes board meetings feel like medieval torture, especially when you can't stop thinking about how your PR executive looks in that pencil skirt.

"Connor?" My father's voice cuts through my completely unprofessional thoughts. "The Q2 projections?"

"Right here." I fumble with my tablet, nearly knocking over my water. "Just, uh... one second."

Harrison's eyes narrow. "Are you feeling alright? You seem... distracted."

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